


I Know What You Grew This Summer

by Lexalicious70



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Bets, M/M, Quentin is clueless again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 17:56:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18761473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexalicious70/pseuds/Lexalicious70
Summary: Quentin returns from summer break after his first semester at Brakebills sporting a fresh look, but Eliot declares war on his friend’s bold new fashion choice that leads to a winner-take-all bet.





	I Know What You Grew This Summer

**Author's Note:**

> All this because Jason Ralph grew a mustache. I don’t own The Magicians, this is just for fun. Comments and kudos are magic! Enjoy.

“What in the name of Cher and all her fucking Bob Mackie outfits am I _looking_ at?”

 

Margo glanced up from locking the clasp on her new leather bag at Eliot’s dismayed tone. Quentin was walking toward them, fresh off his summer break in Brooklyn and a visit with his parents. He was dressed in his usual dad jeans and baggy sweater despite the 80-degree day, that floppy hair, and—oh.

 

“Oh, hell no,” She intoned, and Eliot made a strangled sound in his throat and bobbed his head as Quentin swung up to them as they loitered outside the main building of Brakebills.

 

“Hey guys!” Quentin raised a hand before lifting his chin and turning his head in what Margo was sure he thought was a model’s pose. Eliot lifted an accusatory finger.

 

“And just what the fuck is that on your upper lip, Quentin?”

 

“What do you think it is?” Quentin preened. “It’s a mustache! I grew it over the summer.”

 

“You couldn’t grow organic kush in a windowsill planter like the rest of the first years?” Eliot asked, and Quentin ran a finger over it.

 

“I like it! I think it makes me look mature.”

 

“In a ‘this is a photo of my porn-collecting uncle via 1976,’ sort of way, yes,” Eliot observed. Margo rolled her eyes.

 

“Are we going to stand in the sun and get melanoma over this, or can we go inside?”

 

“We can go inside,” Eliot allowed, “but Quentin, decency and— _aesthetics_ —demand that you leave that thing out here!”

 

“You’re just jealous!” Quentin countered, adjusting the strap of his messenger bag as he followed Margo and Eliot into the building, where they shared their first Practical Applications class of the semester. He flounced past them, and Eliot narrowed his eyes. Margo gave an internal groan.

 

“El . . .”

 

“This will not stand,” the tall magician intoned. “The mustache must die!”

 

****

 

“So how hard did Penny laugh when he saw you?”

 

Quentin lifted a shoulder as he helped himself to a glass of Chablis. The party Eliot and Margo were throwing to celebrate the new semester was in full swing, and Quentin had to raise his voice to answer Margo’s question.

 

“Yeah, he laughed, but honestly? I don’t care! I like how it looks! What’s wrong with a change once in a while?” He asked, and Eliot glided over to them, a drink in one hand.

 

“How hard did Penny laugh when he saw you?”

 

“I already asked him that, catch up,” Margo replied, sipping her wine.

 

“Well if he did, he would have been fully within his rights. Facial hair is revolting.”

 

“That’s an opinion, not a fact!” Quentin refilled his glass. He realized he was drinking much more than he had over the summer and it was going to his head, but Eliot’s words rankled him. “In fact, I bet if I took a poll in here right now, more than half would say they think mustaches are sexy!”

 

“A bet? All right.” Eliot nodded and set down his drink. “But if we’re going to bet, Let’s make it more interesting than some silly poll.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Eliot held up a long, slender index finger. “Here’s my proposal: If I win, you have to shave off your mustache and vow that you’ll never grow facial hair in my presence again.”

 

“Fine!” Quentin countered. “And if I win, I get to keep my mustache—and, uhm—you have to grow one too!”  
 

Margo blinked.

 

“I have to say I’m impressed!”

 

“Don’t humor the boy, Bambi.” Eliot sighed and stuck out his hand. “You’ve got a bet, Quentin. And to show you I’m a generous man, I’m going to let you choose what we bet on. Go on . . .”

 

Quentin downed his wine and let his mind race unfettered. He considered and rejected a few options, knowing that Eliot had experience and an almost effortless talent when it came to magic. He stuck his hands in his pockets to keep from flapping them and his fingers touched the edge of a new pack of playing cards. He tugged them out and held them up.

 

“A house of cards contest!” He said at last. “Whoever builds the tallest house of cards before one falls down is the winner. And no magic or telekinesis is allowed!” He added, making Eliot raise a brow.

 

“All right, Q.” He turned to a few of the other cottage residents. “Clear the coffee table and grab me my roll of parchment paper from the kitchen. We should at least have a stable foundation to build on.”

 

“Fair,” Quentin nodded as he opened the deck and slid the cards into his hand. The feel of the slippery coated surface calmed his nerved and he shuffled them to keep his hands busy. A few first years gathered around to watch, making murmured noises of amazement. Todd brought Eliot the parchment roll as two other kids cleared the coffee table of empty wine glasses, shot glasses, ashtrays, and dessert plates with half-eaten pastries on them. Eliot eyed the table and tore off a long piece of parchment, which he used to cover the table. Someone produced a few rubber bands to secure it, and Quentin set the stack of cards on the table.

 

“Let’s review the rules,” he said as Eliot sat across from him. “No using magic. No help from anyone in the room. No bumping the table or ‘accidental’ sneezes.” He paused to smooth down his mustache. “If we run out of cards, Margo will bring more down from my room.”

 

“Oh, now I’m involved?” She asked, and Quentin shrugged.

 

“Okay, Todd can bring them.”

 

“Fuck that!” She protested as Todd began to speak and gave him an imperious look that made him snap his mouth shut. “I just prefer to be asked, Q.”

 

“Will you bring more cards down if we run out?”

 

“Why not?” She sat down next to Eliot. “I don’t think this will take too long . . . Eliot has talented hands.”

 

“I don’t want to know how you know that.” Quentin cut the deck evenly. “Tallest house wins, no limit on design.”

 

“Go!” Todd shouted, then shrank back as Eliot gave him a withering expression over one shoulder. “I thought you needed . . . you know. Like a starter—no, okay, sorry.” He stepped back and Eliot focused on his stack of cards. The party music Margo put on earlier continued to thump its dance club baseline, but now most of the partygoers were gathering around the table to watch. Conversation died out as Eliot and Quentin began building their houses. Eliot went with a triple-T foundation that allowed him to spread cards out as a roof for the second floor while Quentin chose a triangular shape that allowed him to build up the height quickly. Eliot stacked another floor on top of the first, hoping that the wider foundation would give him more stability. Quentin touched and stroked his mustache in a way that Eliot found extremely distracting, and at one point, Margo gave him a rough poke in the upper arm.

 

“Keep your head in the game, damn it! Or do you want to go around campus looking like the Willy Wonka version of Tom Selleck?”

 

I know, I’m trying!” Eliot hissed back. Money was being passed back and forth among the spectators now, and Eliot felt sweat building on the back of neck and dampening his armpits. The last CD in the nearby carousel ended, but no one moved to restart it. A weird, tense hush fell over the common room and Eliot paused to remove his tie and unbutton the first few buttons on his paisley shirt. Quentin caught his eye, smiled in a smug way that made Eliot want to slap his insolent, pretty mouth, and rose to add the next layer to his house. It was five stories now compared to Eliot’s three, and he’d added cards in T shapes around the base to make a fence. Margo brought down two more packs of cards from Quentin’s room and unboxed them in front of the crowd to prove she hadn’t cast on them. Quentin cut both decks and Eliot willed his hands not to shake as he took his stack. Was his house crooked? Was it leaning? How slick were the new cards? Eliot ran a hand over his mouth and flicked a glance at Quentin. He was adding his seventh floor, the house nearly as tall as he was. He leaned forward, peering at the floor of the previous stack, and the strings of the hoodie he wore swung outward and struck the base cards of the third floor. The house fell down with a rustling patter, and Quentin blinked before he tossed down the two he held in his hand.

 

“Interference!” He shouted, and Eliot smiled and placed his chin on steepled fingers.

 

“Not from me, Q.”

 

“But it didn’t fall! It got knocked down from an outside source!”

 

“You said whoever could build the tallest house without it collapsing was the winner.” Eliot gestured to his house, still standing. “Looks like that’s me.”

 

Quentin kicked the nearest leg of the table, causing Eliot’s house to fall before he turned and fled up the stairs to catcalls from the crowd. Margo herded them toward the door.

 

“Go on, go settle your bets somewhere else! This isn’t the OTB window.” She shut the door as the last guest slipped out and then turned to Eliot. “I almost feel sorry for the kid.”

 

Eliot sighed and fetched a bottle of moscato from the wet bar.

 

“I’ll go talk to him.”

 

“Proceed with caution,” Margo said as she cast a cleaning spell on the common room. “He’s probably pricklier than a bear with a nutsac full of thorns!”

 

“Noted!” Eliot called back over his shoulder as he reached the landing and knocked on Quentin’s door. “Q? Can I come in?”

 

“No!” Quentin shouted from the other side. “Piss off!”

 

“Quentin, you’re being a very sore loser,” Eliot observed, and Quentin jerked the door open to glare at Eliot.

 

“I didn’t lose! The string on my hoodie knocked my house down! You should have let me have a do-over!”

 

“Do-overs are for people who can’t honor the rules of the games they play.”

 

“Another pearl of wisdom from Eliot Waugh!” Quentin snapped before he stomped back into his room. Eliot blocked the door with his foot before Quentin could slam it in his face, stepped into the room, and set the bottle of wine down.

 

“You agreed to bet. I even let you pick the challenge.”

 

“Oh, how noble of you! I’ll be sure to get the _medal_ engraved right away.”

 

“That hideous thing on your upper lip might make you look mature, but it’s sure not stopping you from being a gigantic pissbaby.”

 

“What is your fucking issue with me growing a mustache?” Quentin asked, his voice rising. “Do you have some kind of mustache trauma? Are you afraid it’ll get me more attention than you? Come on, Eliot, tell me the truth! Why did you agree to this stupid fucking bet?”

 

“Because your mouth is too fucking pretty!” Eliot shouted back. “Because I can’t see your Goddamn upper lip and the way it curves and makes me want to fucking beg you for head! Because I want to kiss _you_ , not hair!”

 

Quentin stared at Eliot in the silence that followed the echo of his shout. He stuttered out a few sounds and Eliot waited, knowing the truth was heavy to process.

 

“You want to kiss me?” Quentin asked at last. Eliot scoffed.

 

“You really haven’t been paying attention, have you? Yes, Quentin, I do. I have, nearly from the moment you stumbled out of that hedge and asked me if you were hallucinating.”

 

“Am I hallucinating now?” Quentin asked, and Eliot felt something small and scared loosen in his chest.

“No, Q.” He stepped closer. “You’re not.”

 

“So . . . you’re saying if I shave, you’ll still want to kiss me?”

 

“Most definitely.”

 

Quentin’s gaze ticked to the floor before it flicked back to meet Eliot’s eyes, like a nervous hummingbird attracted to a pretty, vibrant flower.

 

“El?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Got any shaving cream I can borrow?”

 

***

 

“Well well, look who it is!” Penny crowed as Quentin walked in Practical Applications class with Eliot and Margo, his upper lip bare. “Heard all about your house of cards bet! How’s it feel to be the big loser?”

 

Quentin tilted his head to one side in thought before turning to Eliot and rising up onto his tiptoes to give him a long, warm kiss on the mouth. Eliot slipped his arms around his smaller partner and returned it with a sigh as Penny watched, his dark eyes sprung wide. The other kids began to clap and wolf whistle, and Margo grinned at the sight. Quentin pulled back after a moment, touched Eliot’s face, and then smiled at Penny over his shoulder.

 

“Feels pretty fucking fantastic.”

 

_FIN_

 


End file.
